


Keeping Up Appearances

by Sushi



Category: Nikita (TV 2010)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-22
Updated: 2012-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-26 10:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/281902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sushi/pseuds/Sushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Birkhoff gets out of the office and activated for an Op. Clothes make the man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Limp Locks & Black Boxes

When Nikita first laid eyes on him, he was just another shell-shocked recruit whose past had been destroyed by pressing a delete button. They had little in common except for the shackles that kept them tethered to a theoretical second chance to serve their country. At that particular point in time, it was inconsequential to her whether he groomed himself or not, so she ignored his appearance. After three years of working together she was forced to learn about boundaries and how he looked was secondary to what he did, which was to help keep her alive. But their circumstances had changed and now they were no longer under Percy's control, and somehow she and Michael had ended up under Birkhoff's safe house roof, as co-conspirators toward one goal. Bringing Division down.

She hated to admit his hair was a huge source of irritation for her. She was surprised his limp unkempt locks could muster up these negative feelings in her, but they did. There was something insidious about how he purposely hid behind the choppy strands that swayed in front of his face. She despised the side part he wore and the uneven fringe around his neck. As hard as she tried, she couldn't tune out his hair and it started to grate on her nerves.

After they had spent hours researching a nasty nerve toxin, she cornered Michael in their bedroom and held back the urge to whine. "Can't you talk to him?" She implored, venting her displeasure.

"What exactly would you have me say?" Michael found her obsession to style Birkhoff's hair to be amusing, if not a little bit weird.

"I don't know… how about you both go out and get haircuts together, maybe he just needs a friend to tag along." She suggested earnestly.

Michael gave her a horrified look. "You have got to be kidding." His voice was particularly low and raspy. "Is this your version of a sorority life? Maybe you and I could just braid his hair."

Nikita gave him an exasperated look. "Forget I ever said anything."

"What's wrong with my hair?" Michael tried to look offended, but the conversation had become absurd and he stifled a smile instead.

"Oh for God's sake… nothing!" She turned away from him feeling foolish.

He came up behind her and affectionately wrapped his arms around her waist, but she retaliated by spinning around and using her foot on the back of his knee to literally sweep him off of his feet. He landed on his back and together they bounced on the mattress.

He was always surprised at how fast and strong she was, but he had sixty pounds and six inches on her, and he wasn't about to let Birkhoff's hair be the cause of getting his ass whipped. He took a deep breath and because once upon a time she was his student, he knew exactly when to make his move.

Thinking he might like to be pinned between her thighs, she wasn't expecting him to fight back, but he managed to turn the tables on her and flipped her over and held her down underneath him.

"You'll be sorry." She said breathlessly, squirming and trying to extract herself from his grip.

Michael gave her a crooked grin. His hands encircled her wrists against the bed and unless she were to head butt him or wrap her legs around his waist and squeeze the air out of his lungs, she was trapped. Not surprisingly, his lips found hers and it only took a few seconds before she arched into him. They were a tangle of limbs and when her legs eventually did wrap around him, asphyxiating him wasn't the objective.

After being thoroughly ravished, Nikita turned her head to look at Michael. He gave her a self-satisfied look and was surprised to see distress in her eyes.

"Nikita? What is it?" He wondered if he might have hurt her or if he had done something to cause her despair.

"Michael…" she whimpered. "Maybe he just needs a good shampoo and conditioner."

* * *

"You know I kinda like the little sweater vests and the grandpa cardigans." She said with a hint of a mirth. "It's J. Crew meets the Apple store in my eighth grade science teacher's closet." Her eyes twinkled and she wrinkled her nose. "But those flip flops and the bath robe have got to go."

"Nikita…" Michael scolded her like she was a naughty puppy. "Leave him alone."

They had spent the morning cleaning weapons and inventorying their ammunition, but Nikita's concern for Birkhoff's appearance hadn't gone away. It was like an itchy clothing tag, persistent and annoying.

"He's on the right path with that nerdy hipster look, except for his pants, he really needs a good tailor, and a better selection of shoes. Those Chuck Taylor's are limiting his style." She looked contemplative as she tapped the toe of her shoe on the floor. "He just needs a nudge in the right direction."

"Why are you so concerned about his appearance?" He snapped the weapons locker closed and gave her a curious look. "We all deserve to be individuals."

"I wasn't kidding when I said he was lonely. It must be hard for him, here we are together and he's…"

"…not as lucky as I am." Michael said cheesily.

These little comments still made her blush, but she wasn't easily deflected. "Michael, he's saved us countless times and we owe it to him to care."

He gave up a little half smile. "I understand, but there is no OK Cupid category for espionage and assassination by keyboard."

She pouted. "I know, but if an attractive female who was into technology as much as he is showed up, he needs to look his best." She knew the importance of positioning yourself to be in the right place at the right time.

"Nikita… you have a good heart… but you're still meddling and he may not appreciate it." Michael took his hand and tilted her face towards his and gave her a chaste kiss on the lips. "Birkhoff may not have the DNA to be a GQ kind of guy."

"I completely agree with you and that is why we have to help him." She was clear, this was non negotionable.

He leaned over and kissed her again. "He may not thank you for caring."

She couldn't help but return the kiss with enthusiasm and they melted into each others arms.

"Jeezuz you two. Can't you cool your jets for like five minutes?" Birkhoff admonished them from the doorway. "If you can pry yourselves apart, you might like to know I picked up some really interesting chatter. Shadow-bot sent up a red flag, a black box has gone MIA and I think it's in our best interest to follow up on it."

"Do you have the location?" Nikita's interest perked up.

"It left Johannesburg sometime in the last 24 hours for Vancouver, Canada. Division thinks it might be crossing the border there into the States."

"Then we have to get there before they do." Michael nodded his head toward him. "You're coming with us. If that box materializes, we'll need you on site."

* * *

Nikita looked over her shoulder at the open computer on Birkhoff's lap. His head peaked over the top of the lid and she could only focus on his unruly head of hair with its uneven cut and split ends. Images of unraveling hemp rope flitted through her mind. He pecked away on the keys of his custom made computer and grinned and mumbled to himself in an arrogant tone. His wire-framed glasses were slightly bent and the lenses smudged with fingerprints. She fantasized about scissors and a spray bottle of Windex, but kept herself in check, mostly because Michael was sitting next to her and partially because she couldn't reach him without leaping over the seat.

She had kept her promise that she wouldn't bring up his appearance while they were in the air, but now they were in a car.

"Nerd, any new intel on the location of the black box or the Guardian? A name or location?" As usual she sounded a tad bit demanding.

His I told you so grin was replaced with a furrowed brow. "Nada, Nikki. Although we now know the keeper of the crypt is female. The black box definitely left Johannesburg and is here, in beautiful British Columbia. You know, she was so far under the radar that I wouldn't have picked up her movements, if it weren't for our little Division friends. They must have been surprised to see her leaving the country."

"What tipped them off? I thought you said she was off the reservation." Michael watched Nikita out of the corner of his eye as she watched Birkhoff out of the corner of hers.

"You know Percy had agents all over the place on deep cover assignments. There are six of them in South Africa, one in Durban and Port Elizabeth and two in Capetown and Johannesburg. Nothing unusual, until now. The two agents in J-town were found in a ditch, they must have done a sweep of the area and that's when a little known operative came back on line." Birkhoff rubbed the scruff on his face with his hand.

"You think you can find her?" Michael already knew the answer, but he felt obligated to be Birkhoff's straight man.

"Does Pinocchio have wooden balls?" He drawled, attacking his keyboard. "Give me five minutes."

Michael looked over to the passenger, seeing her staring glassy eyed, at Birkhoff. "Nikita?"

Her eyes snapped back to Michael and she gave him a sheepish smile. "I know, we're looking for a mysterious rogue agent with a black box who recently surfaced, but so is Division. I like her style. Game on."

"Hellz yes… found her!" The computer master yelled out. "Seriously? Gretel? Who would name their kid that?"

In the front seat they exchanged a startled look. "You have a picture of her?" Nikita asked with concern and curiosity.

Birkhoff turned his computer around and an image of a pretty blonde, barely out of her teens, with big blue eyes and a sad smile, appeared on his monitor. "Who is she?"

"Percy's daughter." Michael answered him through gritted teeth.


	2. Clothes-fusion

The sparsely furnished third floor loft had belonged to a hacker and comic book aficionado who Birkhoff knew in his other life, the one Division didn't know about. The space was in an antiquated building on a quiet side street in the east end of Vancouver. Judging from the hidden cameras that were part of the security system, the tinted windows and the beefed up electrical circuits that ran throughout the place, Birkhoff's colleague was paranoid as hell.

"You're sure he can be trusted? What did you have to do to get your friend to let you use this place?" Michael asked looking out of the window on the street below.

Birkoff smirked out loud. "You, my brother, are looking at your new landlord. I bought it and paid cash. Milton was more than happy to leave me the pass codes and take a much needed vacation to Amsterdam. We are secure for now, but I hope you two have a plan that won't bring the wrath of Khan down on us. What's the scoop on Percy's spawn anyway?" He unloaded two additional laptop computers and a large monitor onto a worktable.

Her brown eyes settled over him as she began to explain. "It was five years ago. Michael and I had been sent out on a mission to retrieve a kidnapped teenager. Her life was in grave danger and we had a small window of time to rescue her. When we found her, she had been badly mistreated, which could have been avoided if Percy had just paid the ransom for her release."

Birkhoff looked disgusted as he set up his computer equipment. "Lemme guess, Percy let his own daughter be tortured instead of paying up? Talk about a sadistic and greedy son of bitch. What was he waiting for?"

Michael broke in and gave Nikita a knowing look. "When we finally got to her, we were ordered to bring her back to Division. Imagine our surprise when we found out the mission was completely off the books and she was Percy's daughter. The funny thing is the success of this retrieval mission was one of the reasons Percy continued to let us work together. It proved we were a good team."

"Why would Percy send his daughter to South Africa to be a Guardian?" She knit her brow as she thought aloud. "They need special training and they've all been subjected to the Regimen of drugs. It doesn't make any sense? She couldn't have been a good candidate, she would have been too young."

The computer equipment came alive and hummed. "I agree, she wasn't Guardian material, but if I'm reading this right, she was sent on the sly to Johannesburg with two other agents, one of whom was attached to the Black Box. The other agent must have been assigned to guard her."

"What do you think happened?" Nikita felt empathy toward the young woman and she shuddered at the thought of being Percy's daughter.

"Connect the dots. Two Division agents dead, a black box and being Percy's mystery child? I'd look for a new career too. If we know where she is, Division can't be far behind."

"Have you narrowed down a location?" Michael had folded his arms in front of him.

"There's something screwy going on here." Birkhoff mumbled. "Since I last found her, she appears to be in about five different locations, I think she must have figured out a way to clone her tracker and send out decoys." He looked impressed. "That's something I would do. She's good, but I'm better." He attacked his keyboard.

"Michael, do you think she'll trust us? As far as she's concerned we're still Division and taking orders from Percy." Nikita turned to him for reassurance.

He wasn't able to give her any. "It's doubtful she would accept our help, we were key players in what must have been a very dark time in her life."

Michael looked at Birkhoff, then at Nikita and back to Birkhoff. He lifted one eyebrow subtly.

"Nerd…" Nikita said slowly.

Birkhoff looked up at them and saw the look they were giving him. "Oh no… I'm the I.T. guy, I don't do field work." He looked as though they were pointing a rocket launcher at him.

"Listen up, we do what we have to do. Besides, undercover might be the best thing that ever happened to you." Her eyes lit up eagerly, her ulterior motive perched in the forefront of her mind.

Birkhoff looked worried when he saw the amused look on Michael's face.

* * *

"Nerd, hold still and quit acting like a spoiled brat." Nikita watched Birkhoff shuffle from one foot to the other with a petulant look on his face. She held a pair of Iron Heart denim jeans up to his waist.

"You've been waiting for your chance to do this, haven't you?" He gave her sullen look. "I'm not your little play thing."

Nikita sighed as she looked for another style of pant. "Birkhoff, this is important, it may help us eliminate another black box and take us one step closer to taking Division down, and we'll be able to help Gretal. God knows she deserves it. If we're going to send you in to gain her trust, than you're going to look your best."

He knew that hard look on her face, it was usually reserved for terrorists. "Why?" He complained.

"Because I said so!" Birkhoff leaned back to avoid her dagger eyes. She forced him to hold onto the jeans and held up a pale lavender dress shirt.

"Are you out of your friggin mind? I'll look like a pussy if I wear that!" He whined.

"For God's sake Birkhoff, man up! This is Italian, look at these mother of pearl buttons." She berated him and led him to a wall of expensive footwear. She picked up a black leather boot with zipper accents. "You need these, they are delicious."

"Delicious is hacking into an Insurance companies supercomputer and watching their corrupt money transfer into my untraceable Swiss bank account. I've got shoes." He said like a grumpy old man.

Nikita looked down at his dirty and worn Converse sneakers with disgust. "Let me rephrase that. You need some new shoes to go with this beautifully designed mauve shirt and these incredibly well built denim jeans that we're going to have tailored for you." She glared at him. "What we need now is a great blazer or jacket."

She chose one and held it up to his chest. "Burberry, you can't go wrong." Birkhoff knew he had lost this battle when she prodded him toward a dressing room.

After his jeans were properly fitted and the clothing items wrapped into a garment bag and the shoes in a shiny shopping bag, Nikita hustled him over to a swanky high end optical shop.

He stood behind her uncomfortably, with the parcels in hand. He had a dubious look on his face, but had to admit the shop had some interesting looking eye wear.

"Looks like tortoise shell is really big this season." He commented. "I like those over there, these oval shapes make me look chubby." The remark earned him a look of surprise.

She pulled a pair of frames off of the display wall and slipped them on his face. "Looks like a winner. Can you retrofit these in a hurry?"

"Does Dolly Parton sleep on her back?" He answered smugly.

Nikita rolled her eyes. "We'll take these." They finished their transaction and Nikita coaxed him along. "Come on, we're on a schedule."

The next stop was Monique's. They stepped into the shop and an eclectic group of people looked up at them as they walked in.

"How do you know I'm not gonna end up looking like a Nazi?" He looked around the Salon skeptically.

Nikita smiled and patted his hand. "Does this look like a compound for shaved heads and neck tattoos? Just relax. At least you won't have to wear one of those God awful wigs that was in Amanda's arsenal of torture."

"Tell me again why I need to go through this?" Birkhoff still wasn't convinced this was necessary, but Nikita had been persuasive and Michael backed her up.

"She's in danger and she would never trust Michael and I. We rescued her and turned her over to Percy who imprisoned her. You can vet out the situation and find out what happened with the box and with dear ole' daddy. This could be important."

"Why is it, I feel like we aren't on the same side?" He mumbled to himself. His eyes grew round when an extremely well built woman in a tiny mini skirt and boots with four-inch heels walked over. The statuesque red head gave Birkhoff the once over.

"I am Monique. You must be… Seymour?" Her bright green eyes burned into him.

Birkhoff was speechless and Nikita subtly elbowed him in the ribs.

"Uh, yeah… that's me." He looked at Monique with a tad bit of fear as her eyes raked over him.

Nikita smirked. "I'm Nikki, his… his P.R. manager. Seymour here is making a huge presentation and we… he feels its time to… you know… clean up around the edges."

Monique gave Nikita a sly and knowing look. "I understand. Come along, my chair is over here."

Birkhoff's expression was a cross between fright and doom.

Monique took his arm. "Don't be afraid, I promise I won't hurt you.


	3. First Impressions

"So, what do you think?" Nikita stood back, looking like a proud stage mother. They had returned to the loft where he changed into his new duds and a new improved Birkhoff was launched.

Michael circled around him slowly. "I'd say if we weren't involved, I might ask him out on a date."

Birkhoff gave him a nasty smile. "Dream on."

She gave Michael a reproachful look. "Well, I think he looks very handsome." She purred, letting the compliment roll off of her tongue.

Michael leaned down toward the Tech Guru and sniffed. "Is that my aftershave?" His tone was a bit too stern to be taken seriously.

He shrugged and gave him a dirty look. "I actually feel really good. That Monique is pretty nice. She even threw in a brow wax for free." He ran his fingers through his hair and it effortlessly fell back into place. "I just needed some bulk taken out and my neckline cleaned up. The color is supposed to make me look sun-kissed, and that shampoo smells like mint. You know it's all natural ingredients." It was obvious that Birkhoff and Monique had forged a bond.

Michael snickered and looked at him with mock adoration. "It's too bad we aren't the same size, that jacket is to die for." He paused for a moment. "Maybe I will ask you out."

Nikita planted herself between the two men. "Don't listen to him, he's just jealous." She brushed off his lapel and straightened his collar. "I added a little Kevlar to the lining, just in case." She smiled at him and resisted the urge to pinch his cheek.

His hair had been highlighted, deep conditioned, cut and blow dried and even Michael had to admit it looked one hundred percent better. The brow wax had been a big surprise, but the accompanied facial made his complexion glow. The offending mauve dress shirt peeked out from under a black twill military styled jacket with a chic knit collar, and his jeans had been tailored to fit comfortably with a perfect break across the front of his new leather boots. The look was complete with a very stylish pair of eye glasses that Nikita had declared guys in glasses hip, and that they made sure had video transmission capabilities.

She looked at him fondly. "With your brains and good looks, there's no stopping you. I think you look sexy."

"Ditto Nikki." He said with a little leer. He was about to say something off color, when he saw the look he was getting. "Shit Mikey, you really know how to kill the moment."

"You still have to find her and pinpoint her location." Michael added gruffly.

Birkhoff straightened his jacket cuffs with attitude before speaking. "I gotta way of doing that and throwing Division off of her trail. Remember who you're talking to."

"All you have to do is get her to trust you. We can't bring her back here until her tracker is removed, but we can let her know we're here to help her. She may not know what the Black Box is capable of. We've got the Com and live eyes, so we're right with you."

* * *

"Yo! Hey Mom, is Dad still mad about me missing my curfew?" Birkhoff paced the sidewalk while touching the Com unit in his ear.

"Negative. Just make sure you get your homework done." Nikita answered. She and Michael sat inside their car in an alley a block away, and watched him walk toward the hotel entrance on their surveillance monitor. "You're sure she's there?"

He scoffed. "Does a bear take a..."

"Just answer the question." Michael huffed impatiently.

"We'll soon find out." He walked into the building and the three of them scanned the lobby with the help of the closed circuit feed from his glasses. The man behind the registration desk smiled at him suggestively.

"He's got the hots for you." They both said in unison from the car.

"I feel so validated." Birkhoff muttered, sauntering over to a group of overstuffed club chairs and sat down with his back to the wall, giving them access to the lobby and the elevators.

Nikita gave Michael a self righteous look and whispered. "I knew that shirt would bring out the color in his eyes."

In his hand, he held a computer disguised as a smart phone and punched in a few numbers. "Currently, her tracker puts her across town in a shopping mall, on a tour boat out on the water, on Granville Island, going north on the Trans-Canadian Highway and at the hotel across the street and at the other end of the block." He kept his voice low and quiet. "I had to triangulate one of the signals and I traced it back here."

"Birkhoff, turn your head to the left about twenty five degrees." Michael asked watching the video monitor.

He did what he was told and the three found themselves looking at a young woman who appeared from around a corner. She looked down at her phone and fiddled with it obsessively like her life depended on it.

"Bingo." Birkhoff said under his breath. Her hair obscured her face, but he barely noticed, he was too busy checking out her figure. She wore tight jeans, tucked into a pair of black leather boots, and the gray hooded sweatshirt, he recognized as being recruit wear.

"Remember you have to gain her trust." Nikita instructed him. "First impressions matter. Don't be too cocky."

"Copy that." He got up from the chair and walked toward her. He stumbled over his own feet, but saved himself from falling and whipped himself up. "Uh...uhmm, 'scuse me. You seem a little... I mean, is there something wrong."

When Gretel looked up, he got his first good look at her. In her mid twenties, she was petite with delicate features. Her blonde hair fell in waves over her shoulders. She wore little make up which made her look extremely young, but the story in her sapphire blue eyes was filled with wisdom. His first impression? She was, he thought, a real knock out.

"I'm fine." She gave him a scrutinizing look and then swept the lobby, most likely looking for Division agents.

He awkwardly shuffled back putting some space between them. "I saw you with your phone and I thought, maybe she needs some help, I know it can be tricky..." His voice faded off. "Look, I'm sorry if I was jammin' your frequencies."

Gretal squinted at him. "Who are you, what do you want?"

Birkhoff put his hands up defensively. "Listen, I'm no threat to you. Come on now, do I look like a bad guy?"

She gave him the once over, taking in the fluffed hair and his designer clothing. "Are those glasses even real?"

Michael stopped himself from laughing at the comment when he saw the offended look on Nikita's face.

Birkhoff scoffed. "Sorta. They serve a purpose."

"Unless you have a reason to take up my time, you best be on your way." Her stoic demeanor made an impression on him and he helplessly watched her walk away.

"Say something!" Nikita coached. "Don't let her leave."

"Gretal, I've come to help you." He blurted out.

She stiffened and turned around. They immediately saw the alarm in her face and she continued to walk backwards away from him. Birkhoff looked flummoxed until he showed her the computer in his hand. The tracking signals blipped on the screen in five different places.

Instead of running away, she aggressively marched up to him and reached down and grabbed his crotch and squeezed. He gagged and froze. "How do you know my name? Tell me what you want." She rotated her fistful of his testicles until he made a simpering sound, forcing him to stand up on his toes.

Michael intuitively knew what she was doing to him and winced uncomfortably.

"Too bad he's not Pinocchio." Nikita muttered, but her admiration for the woman doubled.

"Tell her." Michael ordered. "And be prepared to get the hell out of there."

"I'm not Division..." He squeaked. "I know you're on the lam.. I wanna help..." His voice was several octaves higher than normal.

She looked at him curiously and released her grip on him until he heaved a sigh of relief. "Jeezus..." he moaned, the color had drained from his face.

"How did you find me?" She still had her hand on his crotch, which he recognized, was the first time he ever wished, wasn't the case.

"Let go of me and I'll tell you." Once she backed away, he cleared his throat. "My name's Birkhoff, Seymour Birkhoff, I used to oversee and run Division's I.T. and security. I used to work for Percy."

Gretal turned white as a sheet. "Does Amanda know where I am?" Her voice quavered.

The three of them saw the frightened look on her face, and they all knew this was no joke. "She will if we don't do something, and fast. I'm being straight with you, I'm here to help."


	4. Trackers & Trinkets

Gretal's eyes scanned the hallway before she opened the door to her hotel room. She slowly peeked inside before entering and motioned to Birkhoff to step inside. Together they checked the bathroom and closets and once they determined they were alone, her next step was to examine the contents of the mini bar.

"You want something?" She tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder and looked at him suspiciously.

He returned the wary look. "I'll have what you're having." He thought it ironic, when she tossed him a can of Red Bull.

Gretal pulled the tab on her can and downed it in two gulps before reaching for a bag of potato chips and tearing into it.

"This looks like a match made in heaven." Michael said raising his eyebrows at Nikita.

Nikita gave him a sideways glance. "Nerd... you better tell her about us. She's not going to be happy if she finds out after the fact."

Birkhoff straightened himself up and cleared his throat. "You should know, I don't work alone. I got a couple of colleagues, they're friends really, and you can trust them too."

"I don't even know if I trust you, much less your spying and voyeuristic friends." She balled up the empty bag and tossed it toward the trash can and they watched it land on the floor. "What do you really want?"

"The three of us left Division, I guess it's more precise to say we escaped. They're looking for us too. We know you left Johannesburg with one of Percy's black boxes and that it has a treasure trove of info that could bury half of congress. Gretal, we know what they're capable of, and what's worse, we know what Amanda's capable of. At least Percy wanted to keep you alive."

Gretal's expression and her controlled demeanor seemed to dissolve right in front of them. Tears welled up in her eyes and the corners of her mouth turned down and she turned away and hunched over. Her shoulders shook and he could hear her trying to hold back a sob.

The last thing he expected was for her to crumble after her surly show of bravado. He walked over to her and spoke to her gently. "Uhm, it's gonna be okay, we're here to help, if you let us."

He reached out and turned Gretal toward him, pulling her close until she buried her head in his shoulder. Somehow this awkward moment didn't seem awkward and he felt empathy toward the young woman.

She wept and mumbled into his shoulder. "I'm scared and tired and I don't know what's going to happen to me." She took a deep breath in an effort to compose herself and made snuffling noises.

It was Nikita's turn to wince and she chided herself for worrying about the designer jacket. "Say something nice to her."

"Hey now, stop crying or you'll look like a hot mess." Birkhoff mumbled.

The words poured out of her. "Percy sent me away, he said it was for my own good, but I know he just wanted to get rid of me. I didn't know where I was going, and it took me a while to figure out what was going on. The Guardian overseeing the black box was Grace. My Guardian was David. At first, besides them being so cold towards me, it was okay. They basically left me alone. They hired a private tutor for me and Paul taught me about computer hardware and how to write code. I picked up on it really easy, much easier than Latin."

Birkhoff urged her to sit down on the edge of the bed and handed her a box of tissues from the nightstand. "You managed to clone your tracker, that's stellar."

"I watched Grace and David, the more they thought I was under control, the less they paid attention to me. After a while, they started sleeping with each other. They couldn't keep their hands off of each other and acted like no one else mattered." She said with contempt.

Birkhoff shrugged. "I know exactly what you're talking about."

"Should we be offended?" Michael asked Nikita.

Gretal swiped the tears away from her face. "They got sloppy and I was able to steal some of their passwords. I found out about my tracker but more importantly, I found the black box" She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "Then I did something really stupid." A fresh set of tears rolled down her face.

"We all do the best we can." Birkhoff mumbled uncomfortably.

"I asked Paul to help me leave. I should have never asked him, I should have known he was Division." She shook her head in despair. "They shot drugs into me and locked me up and told me they would cancel me if I ever tried to escape."

"That's harsh. I know what it feels like to be alone and stuck in Division." He spoke from experience. "You know Percy's been replaced."

"That's how I got out. Both Grace and David were suddenly without a boss and when they found out Amanda was in charge, they got spooked. They were convinced they were going to get cancelled, it was their turn to do the stupidest thing ever, they ran. They left me and the box behind and took off."

"Next thing I know, Paul shows up, says he sorry for being such an asshole and hands me my passport and fifty thousand South African Rands. He tells me I have exactly twenty four hours to try and get out. So I did." Gretal gave him a defiant look.

"What did you do with the box? Do you have it?" He looked worried. "It may be monitored."

Gretal sniffed. "No, I checked. If I give it to you, I want to know what you're going to do with it."

"That box has secrets our government has been hiding for over thirty years, innocent people have been hurt and there's this thing about righting wrongs and finding redemption. Bottom line, Division isn't going to give up until they find it. Give it to us, its the next step in helping us bring Division down." He looked at her solemnly.

She nodded her head and a fresh set of tears rolled down her face. "What am I going to do?"

A moment of clarity overtook him and he realized they were still in danger. "First thing we got to do is remove your tracker. Gretal, do you trust me?" He knew if she didn't they were both doomed. "I can take it out if you'll let me."

"It seems I don't have a choice."

"All right then." Birkhoff led her to the bathroom and soaked a washcloth in cold water and handed it to her along with a dry towel. She sniffed loudly and washed her face.

He maneuvered her under the light. "Do you know where it is?"

"She unzipped her hoodie, lifted her camisole and raised her right arm, pointing toward the back of her armpit. I wanted to take it out myself, but I couldn't reach it."

He scowled. "Be thankful it's not in your brain stem." Gretal looked doubly disturbed when he pulled out a leather pouch with some small tools.

"Boy Scout kit, always be prepared. I can pick a lock, repair a motherboard and perform surgery on tough chicks on the run. Are you ready? This is gonna hurt some." He knew first hand how painful it could be.

Gretal nodded, she slipped her clothing off and stood in front him wearing only a red satin bra. "You see this?" He asked through the Com unit.

"Loud and clear." Michael answered. Nikita gave him a cold look.

"Nerd, you need to wash up and clean your knife. Do it the same way you removed yours. Make a horizontal incision."

He followed her instructions and he suddenly found himself cutting into her flesh and prying the tiny item out and into his hand, he staunched the flow of blood with a clean wash cloth.

Gretal never complained, she never flinched, but she looked slightly ill. "Are you finished?"

Birkhoff looked equally as pale. "Yeah, as soon as I send this little baby on it's way. I guess this isn't exactly a trinket you want to add to your charm bracelet." Nikita and Michael watched the tiny transmitter circle the toilet bowl before going on it's long journey.

A look of relief crossed the young woman's face. "Seymour, look." Gretal pointed to his computer, the tracking signals had gone dark.

"Birkhoff! You two need to leave! Division strike team just pulled up." Michael told them urgently.

"We got to go. Division is still after us and we aren't safe." He taped the incision closed and tore a piece off of the towel and taped that over it.

Gretal hopped down from the counter and pulled on her camisole and sweatshirt. Together they gathered up her laptop and messenger bag and left the hotel room without looking back. At the elevator, Birkhoff beat on the button impatiently.

"Come on... come on!" He muttered to himself.

"Take the stairs." Nikita barked. "They're in the elevator.

Hand in hand they fled down the hall. The door to the stairway shut behind them the moment the elevator doors opened and Roan appeared. He looked around calmly before dispatching the three men with him down the hall.

They scrambled down the stairs until they came to the ground floor. Both were breathing heavily as he opened the door to the outside, they looked like a couple of guilty teenagers. He saw Michael and Nikita in the front seat of their car, waiting for them, and he took Gretal's hand and pushed her into the car. A barrage of gunfire followed them into the backseat and Michael gunned it as Birkhoff swung the car door shut.

"Stay down!" Nikita yelled at them as the back windshield shattered and covered them with pellets of glass.


	5. Blind Date

Gretal clung to him like her life depended on it, while Birkhoff silently cursed to himself. He thought lying on top of a beautiful woman in the back seat of a car should have been under different circumstances.

The vehicle screeched through traffic. "Hang on!" Michael growled. The car rocked back and forth and the tires squealed as it swerved in and out of traffic. Finally, he made his move and cut in front of a truck, causing it to spin out in front of the car that was pursuing them.

"That was close." Nikita muttered. She could see the snarl of traffic behind them. "We need to ditch the car. The local police will be looking for us too."

They pulled into an alley and up to a loading dock. The four of them exited the car. Birkhoff had the messenger bag in one hand and Gretel's hand in the other. He pulled her through the alley but before they reached the street, Michael stopped them.

"Where's the black box?" He scowled and stood in their way, preventing them from getting past him.

Gretal looked at Michael and then Nikita with shock. "You! What is this? A set up?" She backed away from the three.

Nikita raised her hands to show her they were empty. "Gretal, we know why you don't trust us. But we are here to help, if we weren't, we would have left you back there for Division. We will explain to you, but right now we have to split up. If you have the box on you, you're compounding your troubles."

"If you don't trust us, trust him." Michael gave her that intimidating stare he had perfected.

The young woman looked suspiciously at Nikita and Michael before looking at Birkhoff. "I stashed it in Stanley Park."

"We'll meet back at the loft in three hours. Leave your Com unit open." Michael handed him his weapon before taking Nikita's hand. They walked away, leaving Birkhoff and Gretal behind.

After Nikita and Michael had left them in the alley, Birkhoff ran his fingers through his hair dislodging bits of glass. He took his mangled eye glasses and knew they were toast when they fell apart in his hands. "We got to go!" The urgency in his voice said it all.

"Wait." She insisted. She flung her messenger bag open and searched through it until she found a black dress. Much to Birkhoff's surprise, she stripped off her clothes and boots and stood in the shadows of the building in her underwear. The dress went over her head, and she pulled it down. It hugged her petite curves and ended mid thigh. She slipped on a pair of silver ballet flats and knotted her hair up and secured it with a clip. Her last task was to grab a small leather purse out of the pile of clothes she created. She tucked her passport and telephone into the bag and proceeded to stuff it with a huge pile of cash. Gretal kicked the messenger bag and clothing behind the dumpster, and she insisted on destroying her computer, leaving the hard drive obliterated.

She took his arm. "Okay genius, where to next?"

He understood they looked like a young hip couple out on a date and he shook his head and muttered to himself.

"Seymour, what's the problem?" She asked him as they walked down the street, arm in arm.

"Well except for a black ops organization hunting us down, capturing and torturing us for the contents of a black box you've hidden... nothing." He said sullenly. "That, and I haven't been out on a blind date in years and this has got to be the worst one ever."

She scoffed. "Listen, if we get out of this alive, I'll let you take me out to the movies."

Nikita's voice came over his Com unit startling him. "Nerd, you two okay?"

"Fine and dandy." Birkhoff answered. "How are you two kids?"

"I don't think we're being followed." Michael chimed in. The two of them stood inside a noisy foyer with fluorescent lights beating down on them. Loud music played and was intermixed with the noise of bowling balls crashing into pins.

"Lay low." Nikita ordered. "We'll meet up in a couple of hours." She paused a moment. "Try not to ruin your new jacket."

"Nikita..." Michael said under his breath. "Just stay alive and be careful."

"Copy that." Birkhoff mumbled.

Gretal looked at him with doubt. "What was that all about?"

"Looks like we missed our chance to go bowling." His glib attitude had returned. "Believe it or not, sometime after wanting to throw up and watching you strip down to your underwear, I realized I'm hungry."

"Mexican." She said matter of fact.

Birkhoff shook his head. "Mexican... You want to eat Mexican food?"

"That's right." She drug him to the curb, put her fingers in her mouth and whistled for a taxi cab.

* * *

The cab dropped them off at Lolita's, a small establishment in the West end of the city. It was a long narrow room with a bar against one wall and tables against the other. They walked in and the bartender motioned them to pick their own table.

Birkhoff steered them to the back of the restaurant and just as Nikita had taught him, he looked for another exit out of the building. He chose a table in the corner and when the waitress came with menus he held up two fingers "Dos Equis and a big plate of Nachos Supreme."

Gretal sat back and studied Birkhoff. "That's a nice jacket you have on." She said admiring the pocket detailing and knit collar.

He smirked. "So I've been told."

The waitress came with their beers and a platter of tortilla chips smothered in cheese. Little bowls with salsa, guacamole and jalapeno peppers were on the side. Gretal held back a squeal of delight and they both dove in.

She dumped hot sauce on her side of the Nacho plate and he watched in horror when she took a huge bite. "It's been a long time since I've had food like this." She crunched heartily and washed it down with a swig of beer. "David didn't like Mexican food."

He multi-tasked by eating with one hand and searching his computer with the other. "They changed their system and I haven't been able to unscramble the code to get into their tracking info. Those agents could be anywhere."

"Seymour, how do you live like this?" She asked munching away.

Between mouthfuls he answered. "I can't really answer that because I don't have a choice. Ask me when Division has been dismantled and the people who sanctioned it are brought down."

Gretal drank half of her beer down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She froze when she saw the look on Birkhoff's face.

"We gots company. We have to go... now!" He muttered under his breath, his eyes were fixed on the front door as he threw a couple of bills on the table. "Let's do it." They slowly got up and walked toward the back of the restaurant before running out the exit while Roan, with his silver hair and scarred face, opened the front door and walked in.

They hustled down the sidewalk and slowed their pace, not wanting to attract too much attention. On the next block, they hid among a group of people who had congregated in front of a building. Birkhoff looked up at the sign above them, Movieland Arcade and Games, and steered Gretal inside.

The place was dimly lit except for the blinking lights from the pinball machines. The sound of bells, chimes and the little metal balls clanging against the flippers could be heard alongside the exclamations of victory and groans of defeat. As they ventured further into the building they found themselves standing in the midst of video arcade games, many dating back to the eighties and nineties.

"Whoa!" Gretal blurted out. "Look... Defender!"

"Not now." Birkhoff pulled her into an old black and white photo booth and drew the curtain closed. There wasn't much room and they sat very close together.

He pressed his Com unit. "Seeing Roan just ruined our appetites." He whispered, his head down. "Whose winning the game?"

Nikita whispered. "We've moved on, we're at the Roxy Theater."

"Don't tell me... low budget spy thriller?" Birkhoff muttered.

"Worse... chick flick. Something about Bridesmaids." Michael whispered.

Nikita shot him a dirty look.

Birkhoff looked intense. "We're still being followed. We won't come back to the loft until we shake them."

"Affirmative. Copy that and be careful." Nikita warned.

To give them a little more room in the cramped booth, Birkhoff pulled his arm up and around Gretal's shoulder. He wasn't sure, but he thought she snuggled closer to him and when they finally settled themselves he looked ahead and could see their faint reflection from where the camera was mounted.

"Hey, don't look so glum, I'm pretty sure we lost them." Birkhoff said kindly. He saw the frightened look in her face. She teeter tottered between being cantankerous and strong willed to scared and insecure, and he wasn't sure how to react.

Gretal looked at him in the reflection. "Thank you. I should have said that before. I'd probably be dead if you hadn't showed up."

He felt uncomfortable, being praised wasn't something he was used to. "Don't worry, I won't leave you." He thought it was the right thing to say.

Gretal reached into her purse and pulled out two one dollar bills. "Indulge me."

He grinned at her, before carefully pulling the curtain aside and peeking outside the booth. The coast was clear and he inserted the dollar bills into the machine. The mechanism in the booth made a whirring sound and he and Gretal put their heads together, smiled and had their pictures taken.


	6. Status/Location...

"Birkhoff, report. Status?" Michael had taken cover between two bookshelves and held a travel guide to Fiji up towards his face. He made a forty five degree turn and could see Nikita at the other end of the book store hiding behind a magazine.

He scowled, his patience was waning. "Birkhoff? Do you read me?"

"I read - It's really - and noisy in here and - underground." Birkhoff's voice sounded tinny and a relentless thump thump thump came through on the Com.

"Nerd, your jacket's featured on page twenty nine of this month's Esquire magazine." Nikita interjected.

"What? I - barely hear -, repeat -." His voice drifted in and out.

"Where are you? It sounds like you're in one of those awful clubs." Nikita had put down the magazine and made eye contact with Michael.

His voice continued to break up. "That's be- we - at Club - Modern."

"Get back in touch with us in exactly one hour." Michael ordered. He held the guide book up for Nikita to see and she smiled back suggestively.

"Copy - One -." Birkhoff muttered.

He and Gretal had left the game arcade through a side door that exited out onto the alley behind the building. Instead of the usual desolate space between buildings with crumbling cement and smelly dumpsters, they were surprised to find a line of people waiting to enter the building across from them.

"What is this?" Birkhoff looked about curiously at the well dressed row of people.

Gretal looked intrigued. "Let's find out."

After going to the front of the line and making an inquiry that included a one hundred dollar bill to get in, and another one hundred to get his gun in, Carl the bouncer stepped aside. They walked inside and down a flight of stairs and were inside a dance club that was slowly filling up with patrons. The techno beat and electronic din of noise masquerading as music kept time with their heart rate and green, purple and pink spotlights made colored circles on the floor. They ended up at the end of a crescent shaped bar edged in chrome.

"This looks like a cool place..." Gretal looked pleased at the surroundings and Birkhoff was surprised when she looped her arm into his and began to bob her head up and down.

The bartender wore dreadlocks and walked over to them. He shouted out a greeting that was barely audible above the noise.

Once again Birkhoff raised two fingers. "Vodka Soda." He yelled out.

The bartender nodded and shouted back at him.

Birkhoff had to lean in to hear him. "What?" He yelled back.

"Great jacket!" He yelled and set two glasses up and poured their drinks.

They took the drinks and watched as the dance floor began to fill up. Gretal drank greedily from hers and seemed to be enamored by the scene in front of them. She looked over at Birkhoff and felt alarmed. "Seymour? What's wrong?"

He looked at her, his eyes were filled with trepidation. "You're not going to make me dance... are you?" He took a healthy drink from his glass before setting it down.

"Not now, I'm not." She finished her drink and looked awkwardly away from him.

Suddenly he grabbed her arm and led her out to the dance floor. Gretal gave a little yelp when he quickly turned toward her and gathered her up in his arms.

"What the hell are you doing? I like you and all but I thought you were all shy and you didn't want to..."

""Shut up! We got company again." He self consciously tried to move to the techno beat. A man with a vague look, dressed in conservative black clothing, and an ear piece was scanning the crowd. Division was in the house and at the north edge of the dance floor.

She hugged him back. "What are we going to do?" They swayed to the music and he inched her behind a group of frenzied dancers.

"We gotta find another way out. Otherwise we're trapped in here. There's gotta be a service entrance, you know through the kitchen. Nikita and Michael are always running through kitchens." He tried to detach himself from her, but she held on.

"Seymour, you should go on alone. I can hide in the bathroom or something and you can get out and find your friends to come back and..."

"No! We stick together," he told her sternly, "but you're going to have to let me go."

She sounded annoyed. "You're imagining things if you think I'm so attached to you."

"No, I mean physically, let go of me."

She looked contrite and released her death grip on him. He scanned the perimeter of the club and they settled on a set of swinging doors when a cocktail waitress walked through, carrying a tray of food. "Come on, stay close."

The did their best to hide behind the growing crowd and made a mad dash toward the kitchen. A large man with a bandana on his head and a long white apron stood next to a griddle and looked at them warily. "Who the hell are you?"

"My boyfriend is out there, I don't want him to catch us together. He's crazy! Please don't tell him." Gretal pleaded.

"Dude is dressed in black and he's got a gun!" Birkhoff added for emphasis.

The cook gave the young couple the once over, and grunted "I don't like bullies." He nodded toward a doorway at the other end of the kitchen. "Up the stairs, to the right."

"Thanks man and watch out." Birkhoff warned. He and Gretal headed toward door while the cook took out his own weapon, a sawed off shot gun and set it on the counter next to him.

* * *

A disheveled looking man whose happy hour turned into hours, jumped back in fright, when an unmarked door slowly opened and two heads popped out and looked around. He staggered back and watched Birkhoff and Gretel exit out the door and hustle away. He shook his head and staggered down the sidewalk wondering where Birkhoff's jacket came from.

To the south of them was the entry to the alley and beyond that were two black SUV's and a team of Division agents scouring the area. It would be a matter of minutes before they headed in their direction.

Birkhoff took the gun that was holstered in his back and held it next to him. "Somehow, they're tracking us." A look of intensity crossed his face. "It's got be your phone."

Gretal looked shocked as she cowered behind him. "What? How?"

"Dunno, but... we got to get rid of it." They continued to creep down the street, hugging the building.

"My music?" She whined.

He pulled her into a doorway. "You got like thirty seconds to take out the sim card, then we blow it up like your computer."

She slipped the case off and used her little finger to dismantle the phone and remove the chip, before handing off the device to him. He tucked his gun into his belt and dropped it on the ground and stomped on it and ground it into the ground with his heel.

"Let's get the hell out of here." He saw the forlorn look on her face and noticed she was starting to shiver, so he took his jacket off and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Gretal looked up at him gratefully. "Seymour, I don't know how, but I'll make this up to you."

It took all of his effort, but he managed not to look or say something lecherous. "Let's just not become Amanda's next assignment."

She nodded her head as he led her from the doorway. Together they walked down the sidewalk and he slung his arm over her shoulder, it seemed like the right thing to do.

* * *

Nikita was cornered without an ex fil strategy. It was rare to be caught off guard, but her concentration and attention to her surroundings was disrupted by Michael's lips nibbling on the side of her neck. She sighed. "We still have to find the black box."

Michael murmured his agreement and continued to plant a trail of kisses on her. "Nikita..."

When he finally completed the journey towards her lips, their kiss was urgent and she moaned with pleasure. His hands crept under her shirt and the touch of his hands on her bare skin made her shiver. They were definitely making up for the past and lost time.

Nikita's breath caught in her throat, she pressed herself against him, until he groaned.

"You know, you guys still haven't learned to turn off your Coms. In another setting a porn podcast might be nice, but we're a little distracted right now." Birkhoff scolded them.

"You know he loves it." Nikita stated with a smirk.

Michael shrugged but his eyes twinkled with pleasure. "Status?"

"We popped off Gretal's cell phone, they were tracking us through it."

"What's your location?" Nikita cut in.

Birkhoff looked down at his piece of pecan pie and over at Gretal who was wolfing down a piece of apple pie ala mode. "Still in the west end, but we're off Division's radar."

"Copy that. Find out the location of the black box, see if we can find it and pick it up." She replied.

"Let me get back to you."

He swiveled the bar stool he sat on and watched the diminutive blonde devour her pie like she was snorting a line of cocaine. "Hey, hopefully this isn't our last meal, we still have to go to..." he lowered his voice to a whisper.

She looked up at him self consciously and wiped the crumbs of her face with a napkin. "Where?"

"Stanley Park."


	7. Wrong Place at the Wrong Time

"Birkhoff? Location?" Michael whispered as he and Nikita hid themselves in a copse of trees. It was well past midnight and the park was dark and deserted. The distant sound of traffic and the tree branches caught in the breeze rustled eerily back at them.

"Yeah Mikey, just waiting for you to call out olly olly oxen free." Birkhoff whispered back. "We just walked by the Putt and Pitch and are on the road toward the picnic area. I hope you brought sandwiches." After their interlude with an amazing pecan and apple pie, they had taken a cab to the park entrance, and stealthily edged their way in.

"Heads up, any signs of life?" Nikita murmured through the Com.

"Negative. I guess it would be creepier if there was." Birkhoff looked nervously at the shadows that seem to reach out to them. The thousand acre park was an urban oasis by day, but at this late hour and in the dark, it felt like they had walked into a slasher movie.

"How did they beat us here?" Gretal whispered.

"Ninja school" Birkhoff mumbled.

Gretal held on to his arm as they maneuvered their way through the dark. The moon illuminated the walking path just enough enabling them to see where they were going.

"You have the ex-fil point, make it quick." Michael used his thermal imaging monocular to scan the area. Only a few hot spots were visible but all were much too small to be human.

"Copy that." Birkhoff took Gretal by the hand and stopped her. "You sure you can find it?" He looked at her, but couldn't make out her expression in the dark.

"I know it's just past that turn. There's a trail to the beach and I put it in a sealed plastic box and buried it just beyond the marker to the trailhead." She whispered and pulled the collar of his jacket close together.

They turned the path and were surprised to see a chain link fence erected in front of them. "That wasn't there day before yesterday." Gretal exclaimed.

"Oh shit. Don't tell me…" Birkhoff groaned when he saw the heavy equipment. Even in the dark he could make out the yellow paint on an excavator. It sat next to a mound of dirt the size of a small house, and next to that was an enormous hole in the ground.

"I buried it where that hole is." Gretel's voice cracked.

"We got a problem." Birkhoff hissed through the Com. "Bob the Builder's been here and dug up the spot we're looking for. We need to abort. We're heading back to ex-fil point."

Michael continued to scan the area with his scope. He could see the outlines of Birkhoff and Gretal coming back toward the main road. He made one last sweep of the area when he saw another figure shadowing them.

"You got company, behind you at two o'clock." He warned them.

Birkhoff looked over his shoulder and saw the faint image of someone traveling toward them. He grabbed Gretel's hand and for the second time tonight, he pulled her toward him and into his arms. "We're not alone, for God's sake don't get mad." He grumbled before he leaned her back and bore down on her with his lips.

Gretal froze and instinctively tried to push him away, but he was persistent and didn't budge. Once she quit struggling, she found that kissing Seymour was actually quite enjoyable. Being a smart young woman, she went for it and gave it all she had. Birkhoff seemed just fine with that.

Nikita had taken the monocular and watched the action. "Aww look…" She whispered, lowering the scope and turning to Michael. "They're making out."

The kiss was meant to be an impromptu means of disguising themselves, but each of them felt a weak kneed rush. Maybe it was how easily their bodies fit together or perhaps it was the heat of the moment, but whatever it was, it felt really right. They were definitely making out.

The dark figure descending upon them stopped and cleared his throat. "Excuse me, you got the time?" It was a man, and he kept himself in the shadows.

Birkhoff unlatched himself from Gretal's lips long enough to mutter. "No!" He thought this guy was an annoying Dweeb.

"No need to be that way." The Dweeb stated. "I was just asking a friendly question." His clothing was dark and he wore a hood over his head.

Birkhoff inwardly sighed and looked at his watch. "Sorry man, it's close to one, kinda late to be out, huh?" He tried to sound congenial, but regretted it when he saw the glint of his gun pointed at them.

"Too late for you." The Dweeb said sarcastically.

"What the…! He exclaimed indignantly. "This is so not funny..."

"Nerd, I hate to say it, but you're being robbed at gunpoint." Nikita whispered through the Com. "Be cool. No sudden moves."

The Dweeb waved his gun at them. "Hands up! I want that jacket, honey." He said to Gretal with a smarmy attitude. "Give it here!"

She gave him a dark look. "No way." She moved closer to Birkhoff and he felt her hand on the gun tucked in his waistband.

"Listen man, put that thing down." He lifted his hands up. "I'm just going to get my wallet out." He carefully and slowly reached into his pocket and pulled out his leather billfold.

The Dweeb looked unimpressed. "I'll take that, her purse and the jacket too."

Birkhoff held out his wallet and took a short step toward him, but instead of handing it over, he made a fist and used his forearm to knock the Dweeb's gun out of his hand.

The mugger staggered back but caught his balance and growled angrily at them. "Son of bitch... you little asshole!" He lunged toward Birkhoff and tackled him. Birkhoff's head hit the ground and he was momentarily stunned. The Dweeb's fist came up, but before he could pummel his face, Gretal took a shot and just missed his head. She held Birkhoff's gun in her hands.

"Now who's the asshole, asshole!" She muttered. "Seymour, you okay?"

"Yeah, I think so." He struggled to stand and looked down at his now torn and grass stained new shirt. "Damn, this was brand new, you have no idea what you've just done." He brushed his sleeve off.

Gretal held the gun in both hands and she shook with adrenaline. "Can I shoot him?" She rocked from one foot to the other.

"Save your ammunition." Nikita instructed as she and Michael approached. "She looked at Birkhoff and frowned. "Look at your new shirt!"

"Thanks for asking. The massive bump on my head is no big deal." Birkhoff said under his breath.

Michael grabbed the man by the collar and forced him to stand. "That shirt he's wearing is Italian with real mother of pearl buttons." He scowled at him. "You chose the wrong shirt to mess with."

The Dweeb blinked twice and then groaned when he realized this wasn't a nightmare.

"You're so lucky that we don't have time to stay and make you pay for what you've done." Nikita spat the words out, her voice was filled with contempt.

Michael gave him a hard shove. "Go before I let her dismember you."

The Dweeb wasted no time and ran off into the dark.

Nikita walked over to Birkhoff and touched the back of his head. "No blood, you'll be okay." She muttered. "He's damn lucky he didn't get his grimy hands on your new jacket."

Michael approached Gretal, mindful that she held a gun in her hands. "It's over." He said kindly.

Gretal handed the gun to Michael and turned to Birkhoff and walked into his arms, embracing him.

He patted her back. "It's cool, you heard the man." The computer guru said soothingly. "The jacket is safe."

* * *

From the street, the third floor loft looked deserted, but inside the four-some had returned. Michael handed Nikita a steaming mug of tea and she gladly accepted it. They shared a look of mutual adoration.

"You're still in danger." Michael said, the intensity of his stare pinned Gretal against the sofa. She sat next to Birkhoff and each held a bowl of cold cereal and milk in their hands. She had borrowed a pair of leggings from Nikita and wore one of Birkhoff's T-shirts.

"He's right. Division isn't going to stop until they find you or that black box." Nikita added. She looked thoughtfully at the young woman. "If Percy was still running the joint, and you ended up back at Division, what do you think he would do."

Birkhoff looked horribly offended. "That's not gonna happen." He stated without hesitation. "You're not going back."

Gretal set her bowl in her lap. A look of confusion crossed her face. "I can't go back." She answered quietly. "It's complicated."

Michael stood over the three of them. His arms folded in front of him. "When was the last time you had any sleep?" His hostile demeanor had faded when he saw the forlorn look on Gretal's face.

"They're both right. You aren't going back to Division and we all need to get some rest. We'll sort this out in a few hours." Nikita stood and took Michael's arm and led him to another room.

Birkhoff and Gretal found themselves alone. He broke the uncomfortable silence first. "There's two other bedrooms. You can have the one on the right, it has it's own bathroom."

Gretal nodded. "Seymour?" She smiled at him. "In it's own twisted way, I had a good time tonight." She said timidly.

Birkhoff smiled back at her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her close. "You know, I was wrong. This has ended up being the best blind date... ever."


	8. Birkhoff's Anthem

"You should get some sleep. We both should." Birkhoff mumbled. "It'll be easier for us to come up with a plan if our brains aren't jello." He had finally let his defenses down and felt the fatigue of the last couple of days settle in.

Gretal sighed. "I know. It's been a crazy few days, but tonight made me realize something." She stood and offered her hand to him. "Seymour, I don't want to be alone, not even for a few hours. Will you sleep with me?"

He looked at her, slightly shocked at the invitation. It had been far too long since he'd had such an offer. Don't over think this he thought to himself and took her hand and let her lead him to the spare bedroom.

Birkhoff quietly shut the door behind him. He wasn't quite sure what to make of this pretty young woman, but he did know this. She was brilliant with a quick mind, courageous and funny, and she had a vulnerable side that instinctively made him feel protective of her. He knew she had been through a lot and that her future was yet undetermined.

She did her best to look him in the eye, but it was obvious she felt uneasy. "I've never had a boyfriend." She tried to smile and blow off the edgy feeling that hung between them. "It would have been easier for me to remove my own gall bladder than go on a real date. David and Grace made sure of that."

"They must have had to beat them off with a stick." Birkhoff looked at her uncomfortably.

Gretal smirked. "No, it wasn't like that. I just had to sneak around and they just never let me get close to anyone."

Birkhoff closed the gap between them. "Um, promise not to beat me off with a stick?" He made a pinched face. "You know what I mean."

Gretal grinned. "Seymour..." She moved closer to him. "I liked it, in the park, when you kissed me."

He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her toward him and found the courage to look her in the eyes. "Me too."

Her arms wound around his neck and they found each others lips. This time, there was no Dweeb in the shadows to try and fool and no Michael and Nikita audio dogging them. It was just the two of them, behind a closed door, and the kiss they shared was slow and deep. They both felt the same prickly thrill of their bodies responding.

"Gretal?" Birkhoff mumbled as he pulled back and brushed his lips across her cheek. "If you want me to stop… I understand… I don't want you to think that I expect any…."

She hugged him tight. "I know you don't." She whispered in his ear. "Listen, whatever happens with Division and the black box and all this wacko stuff, I'm really grateful to you for helping me. I think you may be the first person I've ever really trusted." She murmured.

Birkhoff was really touched by her words and he squeezed her back. "I know. The world is full of takers and users and selfish bastards. You have to be careful. I only trust Michael and Nik..." She cut him off with another kiss.

"Shut up, Seymour, just kiss me again." Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "And don't stop until I tell you too."

His voice was just above a whisper and he leaned over and kissed the top of her head. "It's almost dawn and we have issues to resolve." Nikita's cheek rested on his bare shoulder, his arms were wrapped around her.

She ran the sole of her foot along his leg feeling his warm skin and hard muscles. "I know." She said in a sleepy voice. Michael scooted himself up to a sitting position on the bed and Nikita groaned when her bliss was disturbed.

"What about the black box? Did you see the size of that hole? When they put that part of the park back together, it's going to take more than a shovel to find it." He watched her stretch like a cat before rolling off of the bed and standing.

She pulled her leggings on first and then a her black t-shirt over her head. "At least it won't be easy for Division either."

"I think the bigger issue is Gretal. We need to decide how to help her. We can't just leave her on her own, Division will eventually find her." Michael's voice was filled with empathy.

"She sounded spooked to me. Poor kid, imagine being held prisoner and Percy as your father." She gathered her hair up into a ponytail.

Michael had swung his legs over the side of the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, you know how Division is. One big happy family." He turned to look at her over his shoulder. "What about Birkhoff?"

Nikita paused to look him in the eye. "You saw it too?"

"Even a blind man could see they've connected." He pulled on his jeans and stood up, grabbing his t-shirt off of the floor.

Nikita looked pleased with herself. "I know Birkhoff's, Birkhoff, and getting his friggin' hair out of his face and wearing an uber cool jacket like I picked out for him, isn't what makes him infuriating and a genius, but you have to admit, he made a much better impression on Gretal."

"True, but just remember, meddling in someone's personal life can be hazardous to your own health." He tucked his weapon into the small of his back.

"Coffee first and we come up with a plan." She zipped up her vest and checked to make sure her own weapon was in place.

They left the security of their room, walked the short hallway to the open space in the loft and were surprised to see Birkhoff standing and staring out the window.

Michael's hand went to his gun and Nikita looked around nervously. "Nerd? What's wrong? Where's Gretal?"

He didn't bother to look at them. "She split." He said sadly. "No note, or nothing. She took her passport and money, your gun, and my new jacket with her."

* * *

"I am trying to be supportive of the situation, but if he doesn't quit singing, I'm going to eviscerate him." Michael grit his teeth and glared in the direction of Birkhoff's bedroom.

Nikita smiled at him and stroked his cheek. "He just needs some time. It's only been a week."

Before leaving Vancouver, the three of them spent a day searching for Gretal. They returned to the alley where Gretal had left her messenger bag behind the dumpster. It was gone and so were any solid leads on her whereabouts. They realized their actions might be drawing attention to her and putting her in more danger. Nikita and Michael convinced a reluctant and devastated Birkhoff to leave. They promised him that once they returned to their safe house, they would continue the search.

Seven days had gone by and there had been no sign of her. Birkhoff had Shadow-bot working extra hard, but still no clues to where she might be had surfaced. At first he acted ambivalent and shrugged it off, than a few days later he became angry and belligerent, stomping around and throwing out insults. The last two days had found him sullen, depressed and despondent.

Michael and Nikita sat next to each other bent over a makeshift workbench. They were assembling a set of tiny bugging devices. She used a magnifying lamp to check her work.

"We all deal with relationships differently." She murmured while using a pair of tweezers to insert a component into the surveillance button.

Michael scowled. "I know you're not deaf, how can you stand it?"

From down the hallway, they could hear the faint sound of music and the distinct sound of Birkhoff, singing along in a falsetto voice.

And how can you mend a broken heart?  
How can you stop the rain from falling down?  
How can you stop the sun from shining?  
What makes the world go round?

He had apparently taken a deep breath and began belting out the song without restraint.

And how can you mend this broken man?  
How can a loser ever win?  
Please help me mend my broken heart  
and let me live again…

Nikita tried not to laugh. "What? You not a fan of the Bee Gees?"

"Nikita" he answered sternly. "This is not an episode of American Idol or a three thousand square foot shower and I don't want to hear him…" his sentence was abruptly cut short by the volume of the music escalating when Birkhoff emerged from his room.

Nikita looked at him like he was Charlie Brown, the boy who never got an even break and Michael looked at him like he was the Wiley Coyote, ready to be crushed with a humongous boulder.

"You two need to get on the same page." Birkhoff shouted above the music. He pointed his remote control at the source of the music and it ended. "I was enjoying the irony of that song. I may even make it my anthem."

Michael folded his arms and glared at him. "The only difference she and I have, has to do with your singing and choice of song. The seventies were not a high point in pop music."

"Not true, I love the Bee Gees." Nikita said with a smirk. "But you could turn the volume down on both." She said kindly.

"I find it easier to emote through music." His sarcastic demeanor had returned.

Nikita smiled sympathetically and Michael shrugged, scowled and glowered.

"I'm fine, really. It is what it is." He shrugged and walked over to his surround sound of computers and sat down. "She was a like a comet, burning bright and crashing to earth, hitting me where it counts, but I'm not planning on wallowing inside the crater she created." He looked confident, but they saw the conflict in his eye.

Without warning, one computer began to chime and one to beep. "Holy Crap! Someone's breached the perimeter of the safe house!" Birkhoff looked up in alarm.


	9. Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

For the hundredth time since she had snuck out of the loft in Vancouver, Gretal questioned the sanity of what she was doing. Lying in the trunk of a ten year-old car might not have been the smartest of moves, but then again her options had dwindled. She knew she would never get across the Canadian U.S. border above ground, so being smuggled out seemed like a quick fix.

Exactly one week ago, she had left the three rogue agents behind, taking her meager belongings, Birkhoff's jacket and Michael's gun with her. Gretal had a methodical mind and she knew from her time under the care of the Division agents in Johannesburg that the organization wasn't going to forget about her, but more importantly, they weren't going to forget about the black box.

After leaving the loft, she went back to the alley where they had abandoned their car and her messenger bag. The car was still there, now adorned with a towing sticker and pigeon droppings. Her messenger bag had been ransacked, anything worth wearing was gone but left behind was a wrinkled paper bag that contained an empty can of soda and candy wrappers. It looked like trash and it might have been except only she knew that what rattled inside the soda can was a key. It took a few shakes to extract the key, but once it was in her hand, she pocketed it, packed up the mess she made and left without looking back.

Her life had always been about lies. Being lied to and telling her own lies had become a way of life. She understood it was often necessary, other times it was about corruption and evil, and sometimes it just wasn't obvious. Although she had her doubts about it now, lying about the location of the black box seemed like the right thing to do. Trust wasn't something she had much of and she was wary of Nikita and Michael. Even though they insisted they wanted to help her, she rejected the notion.

She wasn't really concerned about the smoldering couple that was joined at the hip, but she was sincerely concerned for Seymour. She believed that staying with them would put them all in danger and she wasn't prepared to take a chance that the well-groomed geek in the snazzy jacket wouldn't get hurt.

Gretal had caught a cab to back to the airport, where she went to a bank of lockers and discreetly opened up the metal cabinet. Inside were a forged passport, a pair of dark glasses, a clean sweatshirt and the black box.

She looked about cautiously and headed for the Air Canada ticket counter and bought a one way ticket to Toronto.

An hour turned to two and she was anxious for the car to stop so she could get out and move on. The smell of gasoline fumes was making her light headed and death by Toyota Camry wasn't the way she wanted to go. She occupied the time thinking about Seymour and how silky his hair had felt. When she thought about how they made love to each other, she sighed. He had been full of surprises.

When the vehicle finally lurched to a stop and no one came to let her out, she reached inside the pocket of her stolen jacket and struggled to get a grip on the gun she had taken from Birkhoff.

With her free hand she felt around in the dark until she found the latch to pop the trunk lid open. She took a deep breath, held the gun in front of her and squinted as her pupils contracted from the light.

Instead of the two men who agreed to illegally run her out of the country, a familiar face greeted her. "Hello Gretal."

* * *

"It's the northeast section of the property, something tripped the security laser on the virtual fence." Birkhoff handed each of his friends a Com unit before securing the locks on the doors and lowering the shields on the window.

Nikita ran toward the closet next to the munitions locker and grabbed a Kevlar lined vest. She handed it off to Michael, who was right behind her, before donning her own and taking a third vest and tossing it to Birkhoff. "How can you be sure it's a hostile?"

Birkhoff slipped the vest over his clothes. "The probability that it's an innocent who's lost their way is below twenty eight percent, that means there's a seventy two percent probability that we're in deep doo-doo."

Michael had already begun to unload their weapons and removed his and her assault rifles and extra rounds of ammunition. He shouted a warning to the mastermind on the computer console and slid a gun and clip across the floor toward him.

Birkhoff stopped it with his foot before reaching down and picking it up. He uploaded their main computer server to a secure location, entered the commands to scrub the memory and shut down everything except for the security system. He pulled up the surveillance cameras and his monitor came alive with a checkerboard pattern, each square carried a mini-feed that he studied as each frame blinked back at him.

"Here." He stated and zeroed in on the image. "The alarm was tripped in this one hundred foot vicinity."

Michael hovered over him and searched the images. His eyes darted back and forth across the screen. "It appears to be clear. Are you sure it's this sector?"

Birkhoff cringed. "I don't even have a snappy retort to that question. Of course I'm sure." He puffed out his cheeks and shook his head of hair out of the way. It miraculously fell back into place.

Nikita snapped a clip into her assault rifle. "Michael!" She called out to him nodding to the stairs.

"We're going down!" Michael huffed. The safe house had once belonged to a drug cartel that had installed a hidden door to a passageway to the outside. Together, he and Nikita ran down the stairs to the lower level. She punched in a code on a panel and the wall slid open. They hurried through and paused to catch their breath.

"Michael, I'll take cover behind the fence," Nikita said in a hushed tone.

He nodded to her, but before she left his side, he grabbed her arm. "No hero stuff, I don't want to loose you." He kissed her passionately before she pushed the door to the outside open.

Creeping up a set of stairs, Nikita emerged from the secret passage way. She kept herself low and scampered toward a wooden fence that was reinforced with bulletproof fiberglass. With her back to the partition she slid herself over to the security monitor hanging on the fence.

"Birkhoff, the camera on the fence shows it's clear. What do your eyes tell you?" She held herself rigid with the assault rifle gripped in her hands.

Before he could answer they heard a muffled explosion and a plume of smoke rose up in the air.

"You gotta be kidding me, someone has a messy calling card. Hold your positions until the smoke clears."

"Copy that." Nikita murmured planted herself against the fence.

"Birkhoff, what's happening?" Michael demanded in a low raspy voice.

He toggled between images and squinted at the computer screen. "It's a smoke bomb, one that was launched onto the property."

Michael grit his teeth. "Hostiles? I'm coming out."

"Hold your position. Not sure what's out there. Proceed with caution."

Michael took cover behind one tree, while Nikita hid behind another about fifteen feet away.

* * *

"Hello Gretel? That's all you have to say? I could have put a bullet in your forehead and..."

"Possibly ruin that fancy jacket? I don't think so." The man hovering over her had his hands up. "Put the gun down." Her former tutor looked at her smugly.

Gretel considered his request and lowered her gun before extending her hand. Paul took it and helped pull her from the trunk of the car. The middle aged man with a shock of gray in his hair looked at her in awe.

"How did you find me?" She asked while brushing car trunk dust and debris off of her clothes.

He watched his former pupil before ignoring her question. "Gretel, I helped you, now it's your turn to help me." Paul looked at her sincerely.

"Depends on what you want." She said slowly. Although she felt no hostility from him, she still wrapped her hand around the gun that she had tucked back in her jacket pocket.

"I want to know who you've been working with." He asked bluntly. "I also want the black box. Cooperate with me, right now I'm your only friend."

Gretel looked shocked. "Why do you care? You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into. I appreciate your help and all, but don't you think this spy stuff is a little out of your..."

"I'm Interpol." He said flatly. "Although tutoring does have it's benefits." He added with a smile.

* * *

Both Michael and Nikita cowered behind a tree and watched with fascination as the smoke dissipated. From the fog an object appeared. It swayed back and forth like a surrender flag, but it wasn't a white cloth.

"What the hell is that?" Michael muttered through his Com unit.

"I can sort of see..." Nikita muttered, but was cut off by Birkhoff.

"Really?" He said with astonishment.

From the haze, waving from the end of a long pole, Birkhoff's jacket appeared. At the other end of the pole was Gretel.


End file.
